Rising Serpents, Rising Darkness-Chapter II
by cfmacleod97
Summary: Old friends reunite in Daggerfall.


Chapter II

Daggerfall, High-Rock

Delvin Raynmere collapse, sweaty and exhausted, next to the girl whom just bore his climax. He smiled, as he always did after a romp between the sheets, and panted a few heavy breathes.

"You were wonderful, my lord" the whore cooed, curling up beneath his arm to trace the raven tuffs of hair on his chest.

"You weren't awful yourself, my dear." The girl giggled. "In fact, I may just call on you again, next time I feel lonely."

"And any idea when that might be, my lord?"

"Ha! Soon, soon. Soon you can be sure."

"Would you call for me tomorrow?"

"I might."

"And the next day? And the one after that?"

"Ha! Planning to make a regular out of me are you?"

"If I could…"

The older Breton man closed his eyes. He leaned his head back on the comfort of the goose feathered pillow. His mind was leaving him and drifting slowly into dreams; then it was rudely brought back. "Your not going to sleep are you?" the girl-whore asked through pouting lips. Delvin was annoyed, though he didn't let it show.

"I was planning on it," he said.

"Oh, please don't"

"Why not?"

The girl switched tones to a near child-like voice. "I want to hear about you." Delvin was puzzled. His confusion must have shown of his face, because the explained herself quickly."I feel I should know something, if you're going to become a regular customer."

Now he understood. "Oh?" he prodded, "And what was it that you wanted to know?"

"Everything, tell me everything."

"Well, my dear, that would take awhile wouldn't it. How about you ask me something, and I'll see if feel like sharing."

"Hmm…" the girl thought. Her green eyes turned to the violet veil that hung over the ornate four-post bed. She pondered a question for a moment, then asked, "Alright, I've got one."

"Go on…"

"What is it that you do here at court. Are you a knight?"

"Ha! A knight! Ha! No, I'm no knight, sweet one."

"Then what are you? You carry a sword."

"Yes, yes I do, but I hope to never need use it."

"You do live here though, I've seen you for ages, so you aren't a visiting lord."

"No, Daggerfall is my home, has been for some time now."

"So what then? What is it that you do?"

"I am a servant of his Highness."

"A servant?" she laughed. "Liar!"

Delvin gave a small laugh as well. "Liar? What makes you say that?"

"You're not a servant! You are to rich to be a servant."

"How would you know how rich I was?"

"I can tell. Your strong, and big, which means you eat well."

"I thank you, so long as you weren't calling me fat."

She ignored his joke. "And you clothes are too nice. And you smell of rose water. And the way you speak is too..too…"

"Refined?"

"Yes. Refined. You speak too refined. If your a servant, then I'm a choir-girl."

"Ha, ha! I'd like to see you in a cassock, before I'd rip it off you." The breton leaned in to kiss her, she accepted, and smiled when he withdrew.

"Hmmm" the whore purred, before opening her eyes and starting again. "Don't try to change the subject. You haven't gotten away and I still say you're a liar. No way in Oblivion that your a servant."

" _All men are servants_ " Delvin thought to himself, " _some just like to act otherwise."_

 _"_ Alright," he answered at last, "truthfully, I'm an advisor to his Highness."

"And what does an advisor do?"

"Well, advise, for one. We also advise. But mostly really, we just advise."

The girl pouted again, turning her mouth into two plump halves of a peeled fig. She furrowed her thin auburn brows into a wrinkle. "That's not much of an answer."

"Im afraid it's the best one I can give. I have titles, yes, but they don't really matter. Lord Keeper of the Treasury, Marshal of Coins and Accounts, Baron of Oldhouse, those are just names. Names say nothing in this world."

" _By the Divines I sound pretentious._ " said Delvin in mind.

He was being purposefully vague, to see how the girl responded. She was curious, and he didn't like that. The noble had learned many times over at court, and from various missteps, that the people who listen the most are the ones whom you should tell the least. Friendly is one thing, as is being interested, but one must be careful. Secrets are the currency of politics, he knew, and he hated to lose his coin.

"I see…" said the whore "You sound important."

"You could say that."

"Have you met the queen then?"

"Often,"

'Really? What is she like?"

"Kind, just, fair, everything a queen ought to be, I think."

"Oh, I love her. She's so smart, and beutiful, even in her age."

"Yes," Delvin was getting bored. "yes she is."

If this girl was not a spy, then she was simply one of the most incessant gossips in Daggerfall. Either way, he had no interest in staying any longer. "I must go" he announced, getting out of bed.

While the girl watched him, he pulled on his black trousers, made of velvet, and fastened them over his under-clothes with a fine, crocodile belt. He grabbed from a plush chair the silk shirt he had tossed off in heated passion, and put it on-the ruby red silk of it felt good on his bare skin. When he was done with that, he walked over to the door, and the hangar that was implanted on the wall beside it. On the hangar was his cloak, a velvet, green garb, adorned with silver, and fastened with a metal broach. He took the cloak in his hand, and ran his thumb over the attached jewelry.

The broach was his badge of office. It was silver, like the inlay on the cloak itself, fashioned into the shape of an iron banded treasure chest. It was unique to him, and in fact illegal for any other man or mer in the Kingdom to wear. In many ways, it was the most impressive trinket in Daggerfall, outshining even the medals of his peers.

Each of the King's Marshals, his highest ranking administrative aids, bore an ornament of similar meaning. An iron sword buckle belonged to the Marshal of War; a lapis crescent-moon for the Marshal of Seas; moonstone, shaped into crossed scrolls representing the Marshal of History; and a broach of gold, in the form of a horn-cup, as the symbol for the Marshal of Justice. It was this last office that Delvin thought of now. He kept stroking his own bauble, and smiled as he did so.

His mind went to his friend Rogear Ernele , and how he had finally gotten that golden badge to pin on his chest. " _No other man,_ " thought Delvin, " _no other man is more fitting to be the highest arbiter of justice._ " Rogear truly deserved it.

"Will you visit again, my Lord?" the noble heard. He spun around, to face the whore-girl in the bed. She was lying on her chest, her naked body above the satin sheets, with her head by the mattress' foot, and her own legs bent upward, nearly touching the mid of her back. Delvin wasn't impressed. He pulled his cloak of the hook and draped it over his shoulders, facing back to the door. Not looking back, he answered her, in short, cutting words.

"Perhaps. Don't worry, I'll make sure you are very busy going forward."

The girl sounded like she was about to say something, but Delvin ducked from the chamber before she managed to get it her words out. The carved wooden door slammed with it's immense weight, and the noble Breton was gone.

Once in the hall, Delvin looked around, finding his squire, Braore sitting on a stool beside the doorway. The young boy scurried up from his seat when he noticed his master, and hurried to collect a stack of loose papers in a shambling grab. The master waited patiently for his servant to gather himself. Once the boy had, he trotted along with Delvin's long strides.

"That one," the noble said while nodding back at the room he just came from, "find out who she is working for,"

"Working for?" Braore questioned. His voice was high pitched, and carried a near constant whining tone to it. "I would say she works for the madam."

Delvin laughed, he liked the kid, despite himself. "Oh, boy, you have so much to learn. Stay back an hour or so, see who comes by the brothel. I would bet my home and savings that it is someone of my enemies; Gagur, or Tarch most likely."

 _"He needs to learn"_

The pair made their way down the wooden stairs of the whorehouse. Two long flights led past stained glass windows displaying the pink flowers of Dibella on apple-green they slid out the front door, a small group of poll-arm totting guards surrounded the Marshal.

Following Delivin's orders, the squire took post outside the door of the brothel, looking out on the busy street of Daggerfall, while the noble Breton strode over to his pale white horse. When he was about to mount, Delvin stopped suddenly. He saw across the way a silver haired man, dressed in scarlet, in finery and velvet robes.

"Rogear!" Delvin exclaimed. He abandoned the reigns of his mare and skipped over to his friend, who welcomed him with a smile. The two embraced. "I was so glad to hear of your appointment."

Rogear respond in his usual honeyed voice. "Thank you, my friend. I must say its good to be recognized."

"You deserve it. Truly, I was just thinking how much you do."

"In there?" the scarlet-clad Breton waved to the brothel door. "I think I prefer you keep me far from your thoughts when your in there."

The two men laughed together.

"Come on, well ride to my house, the girls would love to see you I'm sure."

Rogear smiled at his old friend, though Delvin noticed a sadness in his eyes. "Why don't we walk along the battlements? I want to discuss some things with you."

The younger was concerned. "Is…is something the matter?"

"No, no, not as such, just matters of court."

"Can't that wait then?"

"It could, but, it is also such a nice day, and I have been riding a while, I'd like to stretch my legs."

Delvin looked around.

It was warm enough. The sun was lightly kissing the cobble roads, making them shine. An southern wind was blowing lightly, and carried the smell of the ocean with it, opposed to the putrid, heavy stench that it could sometimes bring in from the lower districts. In truth, it was a nice day. "Alright, let's walk." He stuck out an arm and allowed his friend to set the pace.

The two Bretons walked up the street. Their respective guards followed suit, far behind the men. Their clanging armor was audible, and drew Delvin's attention, as Rogear didn't speak for a long while. Instead, he was starring upwards, at the sun and sky, feeling the former on his lightly wrinkled face. He gave a few breathes through his nose every now and then. He was sooting himself, so when he did break his silence, his voice was soft and calm. "I heard the Emperor has called for more coin."

Delvin was not expecting that. "He has…"

"How much?"

"….5,000,000 septims, to bolster defenses in the Imperial Province, as well as supply more soldiers to the front in Black Marsh."

"And will the crown supply?"

"What else would we do? He is the Emperor after all, the rightful ruler of Tamriel. Not heading his request it would be- it would be treason."

"Yes…I suppose your right. Can the coffers afford it though?"

"Not quite, to be honest, but we'll manage what we can."

"I suppose then you've also heard of His Majesty's newest guest?"

"I have. A announcement came with the loan request."

"I hope that wasn't the first you heard of it."

"No, of course not. The spymasters

"What do you think of that?"

"I think he should be executed already. Behead him, on the steps of the White-Gold Tower. Remind the world that it is still men who rule. Show them the price blasphemers pay."

"Blasphemers? You don't believe in his writings then?"

"No, and neither do you. It is imperative that you understand Rogear, the King does not recognize any prophecies other than those of the Faith," he stopped his walking, "and so you can't either."

"I understand Delvin, I was merely making conversation." They started on again.

"Why on that subject though? Why bring up Kalanor and the Cenoda?"

"To be honest, I have a friend, a scholar, who was called to the Imperial City on a mission, a mission to do with the prisoner."

"Really? What sort of mission?"

"My friend didn't say. He only told me he was leaving forth-with, and he could write me when he arrived."

"To spy?" gasped Delvin, obviously appalled at the idea.

"Oh, no, no. Don't be so dramatic. Just to relay stories. I haven't been to Cyrodiil in ages, and want to hear of how it's changed. I assure you, everything in the letter will be above board. I'll even let you read them; my friend is a pretty talented writer."

"Mhm, well I may just take you up on that…" Rogear smiled again, and went another while saying nothing. It wasn't until they reached the battlements of the Seastone Wall that he turned back to the guards to speak.

"Wait here." he told them, then faced to Delvin. "I need to speak to you in private." he explained. Delvin nodded, restating to his own guards the order to wait, and followed his friend along the battlement, staring out at the view, beauty as it was.

The wall they walked on was built into the rock of the bluff, and of similar material. The cliff itself was high, but add to it the man made fortification, and it towered over the sea; the sound of crashing waves was barely even present. They were faint and far off.

The section of the battlements they came to were empty. Ships that guarded the waters and the light house in the bay-with its ballistas-trumped the usefulness of any guard standing on watch on the bulwark. So when the men made it about halfway to the end of this wall when they were all but alone, their guards still within shouting range. The stopped and looked out at the sapphire waters. It was Delvin who spoke first.

"I knew there was something bothering you. I could see it in your eyes."

Rogear gave a low scoffing, laugh. "You know me too well friend."

"Let's hear it then. What is it you have to tell me?"

The older Breton stared to the rocks below. His thin smile dissipated and he mumbled in a hushed tone, as the words were to himself more than anyone else. "…Dark times are rising, Delvin."

"Aren't they always?"

Rogear turned to face the younger man. "Not like this." He shifted his body to better show his seriousness. "There are rumors my friend, not ones I believe mind you, but ones that are still whispered none the less."

"What-what sort of rumors? About me?"

He nodded. "There are some-some among the other courtesans-some that say you are in favor of leaving the Empire. Now, obviously I don't think-"

"Honestly! Me? A traitor? Ha! You can't thi-"

"I dont. Truly I thought it was ridiculous too. Understand though, that I-as the new Marshal of Justice-I need to look into such accusations, no matter how stupid I find them to be."

"How, though? How would anyone think that? Who would think I was a traitor?"

"I don't know. Idiots? Or more vicious types? The city is full of people who would see your reputation scuffed."

"Ha! Too true! But this-this lie-its just absurd! I would hope that my enemies were clever enough to come up with something more believable. This is ridiculous!"

"I thought so as well. But, their are those who think that it would be in the best interest of the Kingdom to abandon our Emperor. Some propose joining with Sentinel, even."

"With the Redguards? That's an idea! Ha!"

"Yes. So, of course you wouldn't entertain the notion, if it ever came up in council?"

"Of course I wouldn't! You know that!" Delvin was already imagining such a union. A thick-skulled Redguard, and himself, the former screaming and waving his sword about widely, as the latter tried to explain the intricacies of governmental policy. The image made him laugh. Rogear wasn't laughing. He was solem, stone faced.

From the folds of his garb, the elder Breton pulled a single silver coin. He rested it on his index finger and flicked it hard. A resonation clang sounded as the metal disk flipped forward, falling down to the rocks below. Rogear followed it with his gaze."We praise you, our lady of the winds." muttered Delvin in prayer. He began a moment of silence but was interrupted, when he was jumped on by his friend.

The older Marshal had grabbed the younger in a full-bodied hug. Taken aback by this, Delvin stood still. Slowly though, he moved his hands to his companions back, tapping the soft velvet cloth in comforting pets. When he broke the embrace, Rogear looked into Delvin's eyes. "What was that for?" the younger asked.

"You, are a true patriot Delvin. You do what you think is best for the King. Above all else, that is what you consider."

"I must say-it's good to be recognized." the treasurer joked.

"I'm sorry."

Delvin flashed a grin, attempting to console his friend's guilt. "Don't be. I understand, you have to follow your duty."

"I do." affirmed Rogaear.

"Looking into the affairs of treason is your job now. You will do very well at it."

He gave another short scoffing-laugh. "I love you Delvin."

"I love you to, my friend."

In that moment, the younger Breton felt something. It was warm, and on his chest. Rogear had placed his hand over Delvin's heart. It was a strange sensation, tense, and powerful. A rush drove throughout his body, his pulse quicken. His palms started to sweat. Something he had never experienced before was happening, it was strange, shocking, and scary.

"I'm sorry" the older Breton repeated."I'm so, sarded, sorry…"

A thin red drip ran from Delvin's neck. It made it path over the pale hands of the Marshal of Justice, which clenched down, not only on his friends chest, but on the silver piece that was his broach. The treasurer's eyes went wide. With a single strong shove from his friend, Delvin's body was flung over the side of the wall, falling limply to the sea and rocks below. Not even a splash could be hear. Rogear was left on the battlement, he couldn't watch his victim fall. He was transfixed, his eyes glued forward, at a darkly clad man, that stood across in front of him.

The killer wore a stitched leather garb, black with red details. His face was covered, so that only his stubbly chin could be seen, along with his crooked smile. A small scar stretched from his grin. On his chest, a bloody handprint drew Rogear's gaze. It took actual effort for the Breton noble broke his stare, and look downward, to his own hands.

The silver broach of the Marshal of Coin lay in his palm. A bit of blood smeared the polished corner, so he pulled a cloth from his robes, and cleaned the metal back to a sheen. With a flick of the wrist, he sent the handkerchief into the waters below. Peering up, Rogear nodded once to the covered face of the man. He bid his leave and returned the way he came.

The guards were still where the two men had left them. They got up and said nothing as the Marshal made his way through the streets, past the market, and back towards the brothel. The guards followed closely all the while, though they stopped outside the door, letting their master enter alone and make his way upstairs.

Passing the stained glass windows, that displayed the pink flower of Dibella on a green field, the aging Breton climbed to the chamber of the emerald-eyed whore. He entered the room in a single, fluid moment. The girl was siting before a mirror, brushing her auburn locks with a bone-mold brush. The Marshal approached her, Here it is" he said as he held out the broach, for the whore to take in hand. "You know what you say?"

She nodded and accepted the trinket tenuously. "That I stole it."

"And…"

"And that Lord Raymere had left alone. That he was in a mood. That he was crying here before."

"Good" The noble took his leave. He spun on his heels towards the exit. The girl stopped him though, with a concerned-sounding call.

"My Lord?" Rogear faced back "Won't they-won't they punish me? For stealing, I mean. I haven't got much money. I can't pay the fine. They'll put me jail for sure." She seemed distressed, genuinely, though glibness was the trait she had been chosen for; so there was no way to know if she was truly afraid. Still, in his typical, soothing manner, Rogear moved closer to her. He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek and smiled.

"My dear" he told her "I am the law, you mustn't need to worry. Because you-you are helping to save your race, to ensure their future, and guard us from the terrors of falling lands."

The whore smiled like a little girl. She nodded again, feeling as if she understood. Seeing this, the Marshal took his real leave. He gave a solemn sigh outside the door of the room. He pondered, mourned, regretted, and forgot, before starting down the wooden stairs.


End file.
